Whispering Tongues Can Poison Truths
by Minato's Moustache
Summary: All he ever wanted was a nice wife, a house, couple of kids and a job teaching English. Not this. Never this. But god it feels good. Dark!Boarding-school AU. I think it's romance, yeah.


**KUDOS, Sir Coleridge! this title feels pretty. (I'd suggestyou read Christabel, but oh my how long it is.)**

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><p><strong>So<strong>** I'm a little scared (Ach meine Gott, I'm terrified ;_;) to be wandering back into this fandom with AU, justwhysobsob.****  
>I hope you enjoy itttt. Main pairing will be good old QuinnRashel as I'm comfortable with that, I don't know where from thereon. Gonna avoid OC's and crossover characters… maybe.  
>Please enjoy *hides*<strong>**  
>Also, this might sound a little weird, but I'm not used to writing anything even remotely heterosexual. So expect the unexpected. I apologize for any mistakes, wrote this on my phone whilst cracking up at BBT. 3 <strong>

**Quinn seems to be insanely obsessed with Rashel, orz. **

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><p><em>All he ever wanted was a nice wife, a house, couple of kids and a job teaching English.<em>

_Not this. Never this. But god it feels good._

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><p>John Quinn straightened his collar, swallowing. He wrote his name on the dated board: MR. QUINN followed by the date, January 3rd and continued to fiddle with his tie and collar until his students entered. They drifted in slowly, laughing to each other and eying up the fresh bait. Second bell rang out, and the students settled into their seats, "discreetly" moving their phones into the pocket he couldn't see correctly, the girls shoving it into their underwear and fluttering their doe like eyelashes.<br>"I'm your new English teacher," Quinn smiled nervously, "pleasure."

There were a few nods and murmuring as he took role.

"Blake?"

"Present."

"Redfern?"

"Here," came a chorus of voice, then giggling, Quinn looked up to see a circle of girls tapping their nails against the desk with a boy in the middle, biting on his lip as his burning eyes hid behind his ash blonde hair.

But this story isn't about him, it's about her.

_What's with all the Redferns? Got to be inbred that's weird. _

"Rashel?"  
>He was met with silence, damn this role call was taking ages, he had ten minutes to do it or he would get ranted at by the Head Teacher, and that's never good.<p>

"Rashel, is she here?"

His eyes scanned the room to see a girl nudging someone who seemed to be her twin until she removed her head from the desk. From his check she was Keller.  
>"Fu-" she started, "Wait, sorry, Sir present."<br>Quinn raised his eyebrows, majestic as they were, and tapped his finger against the enter button as it slammed through the entire list, they could be absent if they wanted, he'd just do a headcount and pray for the best. Then he turned around, writing hurriedly upon the board.

"Okay, Kids, have some culture," he turned around, revealing 19th Century Poetry to be written on the board, "poetry. I know, first day back after Christmas and I'm making you learn poetry, sorry."

There was a series of groans, a few people sat up straight, and the lesson began. The girl barely spoke, just slept and occasionally doodled upon her Christabel sheet. The bell rang and he dismissed them a table at a time for lunch. As she walked past, putting her purple folder down on his desk, they left and he ran his hands over her folder, spinning it round to face him.

Rashel Jordan.

What a _boringly beautiful name. _

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><p>June 25th.<p>

_All I ever wanted was to teach English and be happy, and own a dog and have two children with my wife one called Alexandria one called Adam because I like the names and-._

Quinn didn't know why she appealed to him, she was a cute girl, at one point she smiled as she handed in her homework, cheeks dimpling and he practically melted into his chair it was so irresponsible and irresistible. Such a crime. _Get out you bland boring girl that's so not bland and so exciting, you contradiction, you everything I want and everything I need and-._

In the last twenty one days, twelve hours, forty six minutes, fifty one, two, three seconds, Quinn had noticed Ash Redfern, and he made the young self proclaimed laureate damn angry, something else, also, but Quinn shied from it. In the twenty one days, twelve hours, forty nine minutes exactly now, he'd realized the relationship Rashel and Ash shared, and it made him angry on so many any levels. Childhood friends he heard, they ate lunch by the same bench, too, he put his ARM around her WAIST and she blushed, pushing him off. Quinn saw it all from his little office.

"Fuck, I'm creepy." He said to himself, picking at his nails as he stared at her.

She used a fountain pen, and it smudged, because her hands were far from petite, she liked poetry, as evident in the fact that she did the work, she has dimples, she bleached her hair once, as evident by the screw up of her roots, she hid them with very cherry hair dye and a hat, oh beautiful, she apparently never went home for the holidays or half terms, her shoes were a size fi-.

"Mr. Quinn, you wanted to see me?" Someone said quietly, snapping Quinn from his reverie to the girl in front of him, "or can I go?"

"U-uh yes, Rashel," he blushed bright red, a tomato, a schoolboy, "sit down please."

She did so, brushing her hair out of her green eyes and looking at him, he had butterflies, moths, wasps in his stomach.  
>And why had he asked her here? He didn't know in the slightest.<p>

"Rashel, I was wondering of I could organize a phone call or something with your parents Consultation Evening is coming up soon, and you haven't got a space on my sheet, nor have your parents written back in regards to your progress report," he help up the sheet, signed, all but hers, "so, could you get in contact with them for me?"

She scowled, "Sorry, Sir, I can't, they're busy. I can assure you that I enjoyed my progress."

"Alright," he smiled, backing down at the look in her eyes, anti frost, angry, defensive, _feral hungry guttural, _ "love the hair, by the way."

Rashel glared daggers into his face before standing, brushing her skirt down and walking towards the door, slamming it behind her as he went.

Oh God, girls weren't meant to look that good in blazers.

_Imgoingtohellsomuch._

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><p><strong>Short prologue was short.<strong>

**Review please? I want to know if this is even worth the digital paper it's being metaphorically written onto.**


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